Serious Bumblebee
by gibbousmoons
Summary: A character piece on how to make an active Dumbledore.


AN: Just a quick little character study for a more proactive Dumbledore. I didn't intend for it to be so reflective, but that's just how Dumbledore wrote himself.

I don't own _Harry Potter_. Good riddance to bad morals.

XIXI

Dumbledore sat in his comfortable chair, letting his gaze wander across the various silver knick-knacks covering his desk and shelves. He wasn't paying any special attention to any of them, he just always made the best decisions when he took the time to think things through. He'd made too many grave errors in recent years when he'd acted without thinking things through properly, and he refused to add another weight to the shoulders of those he was responsible for.

When had he gone wrong?

He'd been so _busy_, so caught up with passing and blocking legislation, with making sure last year's breach in Hogwarts' dark detection wards couldn't be repeated, that he hadn't remembered to sit back and think about his options. It was obvious what had needed to be done, so he had done the obvious things.

And Harry had nearly paid the price for his thoughtlessness. Sometimes the answer right in front of your nose wasn't the answer you were looking for, but he'd stopped looking anyway- because it was simple.

Take the simple way out, Albus.

Cleave the Gordian Knot, Albus.

Act now, Albus, you know you're right and waiting on proof will only endanger more innocent lives.

_Weren't the Potters enough for you, Albus?_

Shaking his head, the aged wizard dismissed the mocking voices of those he'd failed. Last year Harry had been attending his third year of schooling in the wizarding world. He should have been safe, protected within Hogwarts from the last remnants of Voldemort's gang of terrorists and murderers.

_He wasn't though, was he Albus._

It wasn't a question. Dumbledore knew Harry wasn't safe at Hogwarts, but he thought- no. He didn't think. He didn't think things through. When he heard that Sirius Black had escaped Azcaban, and the warden remembered hearing cries of "He's at Hogwarts!" emanating from Black's cell, he'd believed that the He in question was Harry. Merlin knew why. The paper that day was about the Weasly's vacation in Egypt, no mention of Harry Potter in the whole issue.

If anything, he should have jumped to the conclusion that there was a dangerous mass murderer after Ron Weasly. After all, Sirius had handed Harry to Hagrid with his own two hands, safe and sound. Why would he make such a fuss when he found out he was attending Hogwarts? Why? But he didn't think about that, he just linked Harry to his godfather and made the obvious connection.

No use dwelling on the past. Dumbledore's gaze finished weighing the last of the silver gadgets, all silent, and he closed his eyes, taking away the last distractions that could have broken him away from his own memories. Over a century of Occlumency practice meant he only used a pensieve out of convenience and habit. He was more than capable of remembering everything he'd ever experienced with perfect detail, he had only to make the effort.

But he dwelled on his mistakes less and less as time went on, and found that silence drove its lessons home much more effectively than the usual busy clicking and whirring of his office.

No other room in the castle was ever truly silent either, what with the sounds of students, Peeves, and the teachers, or the natural sounds from the grounds drifting in through the open windows. His office, to, was usually not silent- not still. Portraits talked to each other and instruments and knick knacks moved together in a steady hum that drowned out the past.

No more. Not when he was alone, and let his mistakes weigh on him like a leaden blanket, hunching his back and bowing his head with the weight accumulated only with the long march of time and good intentions.

With a flick of his fingers movement resumed. Wheels turned, switches flipped, and axels turned their tiny cogs. Enough of the past. He'd made mistakes, far too many mistakes, but he still had time left. He still had enough time to fix them, to fix enough of them to make a difference. He'd spent too long thinking in the long term without considering that the short term was changing all the time. Whatever changes he made, he had to make them now.

Action based only on passion would cause pain. _Ariana, Sirius, Pettigrew. _All those harmed by things they later regretted.

A calm mind without the means and will to act on its decisions was similarly useless for what he needed to do. _Lupin, Minerva, himself._ He'd been so certain that taking direct action would make him like the monster Grindelwald had become.

Voldemort had passion. His arrogance, what had been his downfall in life, would be tempered in his rebirth. He would make sure that he would not die again, and Harry was only a schoolboy, not yet entered into even his fourth year. The prophesy would insure their meeting, all Dumbledore had to do was make sure Harry lived.

Dumbledore rose, and turned to look out the window at Hogwarts' grounds.

He'd thought long enough.

It was time for _action._

XIXI

Dumbledore appeared in the ministry atrium in a ball of fire, courtesy of Fawkes, scattering ministry employees and low level flunkies with the heat of his entrance. After a quick detour to the Department of Contracts, he knocked on Bagman's door before opening it. "Ludo, we need to have a word about the international Quidich finals."


End file.
